Whys and Wherefores
by starry19
Summary: 'There were several moment of hesitation before she opened the wooden door. Her eye make-up was smudged, like she had swiped at her eyes a fair few times. "Who's leaving who now?" he asked without preamble.'
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: This is me, dealing with things on the show. Because it's this, or they're secretly sleeping together. Seriously.

**Whys and Wherefores**

She was avoiding him.

The question was: _why_?

He hadn't done anything in particular to make her unhappy recently. In fact, he had tried to be on his best behavior - asking her to go with him for a short road trip, even being social when Rigsby and Cho had asked him out for drinks, assuming Lisbon would be there.

It had been an incorrect assumption, but one he hadn't had a lot of time to ponder. Things had gotten very intense immediately after.

Their old partnership, their connection, had sprung to life again as they'd worked frantically to save Grace. Looking back, it told him that her actions to distance herself from him were deliberate and not as a result of her changed feelings towards him.

They'd had a few moments at the end of the case, Grace safely back next to her husband, both of them wishing the new FBI gang a fond farewell. It had been bittersweet - they had all been reunited briefly, and it was very likely that it would be the last time for years.

Attuned as he was to Lisbon's every move, he noticed the set of her jaw as Cho walked Rigsby and Van Pelt out to their cab. She was fighting tears, and he carefully placed his hand on the center of her back, wondering what he would do if she actually cried.

She didn't, but she did lean in to him subtly for perhaps a minute.

And then the moment ended. Her shoulders straightened, her chin lifted, and she took a calculated step away.

He missed her immediately, missed her laughter and her warmth, watched everything he adored about her disappear under a heavy cloak of dismissal and professionalism.

For a second, he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, demand to know what was happening. Demand to know _why_.

Instead, he let her go.

He didn't sleep that night. Instead, he drove the streets of Austin, working on familiarizing himself with the streets and the all night diners. He thought about driving by Lisbon's house, but with a shock of dismay, he realized he didn't even know where she lived.

They were falling apart, the two of them.

It was...deeply unsettling. For years, Lisbon had been his anchor in a rough sea. She brought him back from the brink after Angela and Charlotte, gave his life meaning, had his back for twelve years.

This, the FBI, Texas, was supposed to be a new start for them. He had envisioned them going forward, blurring some the lines that had always been between them, lines that he had put there.

And now she was the one erecting defenses.

_Why_?

It wasn't about Kim or whatever had happened on that island. No, she and Kim were actually friends, going out for drinks after work on a fairly regular basis. For a second, he wondered if he should talk to the other woman, see if she had any insights on why he was having to fight tooth and nail to even speak to Lisbon. He dismissed the idea immediately. Kim liked Lisbon a hell of a lot better than him, so the effort would be futile.

He was...lonely. That was nothing terribly new. He had been lonely for a very long time. But he had hoped that things would start to change. And this was different sort of lonely, besides. Before, back in California, he always had her office to spend time in, knew she would always answer his calls, or be up for grabbing a quick dinner after work.

Now he was sure of very little.

He needed to do something to rectify this, needed to have her back. Of course, the first step was to figure out why the enormous chasm between them was there in the first place.

Part of it was him, he was certain. He had just expected to slip back into their old routines, but he wasn't the same person as he had been before. If he was being perfectly honest, he sometimes felt like he was missing a reason for getting out of bed in the morning. It had been Red John for so long, and he was finding it was difficult once his primary reason for being was gone. He didn't know how to deal with it.

This was not the life he had set out to live. But he _had_ chosen it, sitting in a bar on a remote island one afternoon. He had known what coming back meant. It meant this work and dead bodies and a bunch of mistrustful federal agents. But it also meant Lisbon.

And really, what was the point of having a new life if there was no one you wanted to live it with?

It made her distance and silence harder to bear. He had expected to be able to hold onto her like he always had, but she was gone.

He spent the rest of the night in the Airstream, falling asleep with his clothes on just before dawn.

Lisbon beat him to work the next day, already well into what was probably her third cup of coffee, industrially making notes over a well-thumbed file. She was still determined to prove to everyone that she was in the FBI because she deserved it, and if doing exemplary work on boring cases got her respect, well, she would do it.

It made him a little sad. She was such a fantastic cop, and here she was, probably tracking down kids who were illegally downloading music. Meanwhile, he was stuck in the field with Agent Fischer. Now, he liked Kim, but she just wasn't Lisbon. _She_ wasn't his partner, hadn't been by his side as he walked to hell and back, didn't know him better than any person living.

"Morning," he said cheerfully, pausing at her desk a moment.

She barely looked up. "Hello," she replied, pen still poised in her hand.

Abruptly, he found he wanted her complete attention. So he sat on the edge of her desk, deliberately invading her personal space. He'd done this before, back in California, back when they had both been aware of what his increased proximity was doing to their pulses.

And now...now he could see her defenses go up, almost like a visible shield.

"Have dinner with me," he blurted without thought. "We need to talk."

"About what?" she asked, carefully.

He arched an eyebrow. "You know what."

"No, I'm afraid I don't," she replied matter-of-factly, trying to tug the manila folder he was currently sitting on closer to her.

He almost sighed in frustration, wondering why she was insisting on doing this. "Teresa," he said, effectively getting her to look up again. "Please. Have dinner with me. I miss you."

Her eyes were dark, almost bruised, but he held them, trying to convey to her how much this would mean to him.

"Okay," she eventually whispered, sounding like this was very much against her better judgement.

He couldn't help his grin. For a few seconds, he had been genuinely afraid that she would turn him down flat.

"Excellent," he told her, moving off of her desk. "I'll find you at the end of the day. Promise you're not going to run off," he tacked on, and she rolled her eyes.

"Promise," she deadpanned, clearly annoyed.

The next eight hours crawled by. There were no new cases, something that he should be grateful about because it would have effectively ruined his plans. Still, it would have given him something to do. Instead, he inexpertly used his new iPhone to search for places to eat, occasionally glancing up at Lisbon as she worked.

She, on the other hand, was deliberately not looking at him. Ever.

Absently, he twisted his wedding ring around, an old habit, and one that he needed to kick.

At 4:59, he pushed off the couch, sauntering to Lisbon's desk. All of the files she'd been working on were stacked in a different pile. His industrious little agent.

Chivalrously, he helped her into her jacket, though he did resist the temptation to slide his hands through her hair. In the state Lisbon was in, she'd be tempted to shoot him, and that would put a damper on the evening he had planned.

She was quiet as he drove them to a small place fifteen minutes or so away from the office. He'd never been, but according to whatever Yelp was, it had a good menu and good service.

He ordered a local beer and she seconded it, fingers wrapping around the glass bottle tightly. She was nervous, uncomfortable in this situation.

If someone would have told him six months ago that there would ever be a time when Lisbon was uncomfortable with him, he wouldn't have been able to hold in his incredulity.

He waited until their breadsticks arrived before jumping in.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

She choked on a mouthful of beer. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing. "Please. Can we not? You're avoiding me," he said again, "and I think I deserve to know why."

"I am not avoiding you," she said automatically, but he could see the color in her cheeks.

He caught her gaze, refused to look away. "Why?" he repeated, ignoring her last response.

She took another sip of beer, not answering.

"Teresa," he said solemnly, earnestly. "If I've done something wrong, tell me. But I literally travelled two thousand miles to be with you, and I would think that would give me the right to have an honest response."

Her eyes suddenly spit angry sparks, and he realized he'd said the wrong thing. "Oh, you feel like your life was turned upside down recently? I wonder what that's like. At least you had a choice in the matter." Her words were harsh.

"And you didn't?" he demanded, his surprise making his tone harder than it normally would have been.

"You made sure I didn't, just like you always do. Yeah, like I was going to sit in a podunk police station when I could be in the FBI. What were my options, seriously?" He heard self-deprecation.

"Do you regret coming to Texas?"

Their waiter appeared then, took note of their expressions, and hurriedly left their dinners.

"No," she said in response to his earlier question. "Coming here was the best thing to happen to me since the CBI dissolved. I have a chance to work on a national level, to solve crimes that literally make a difference to this entire country."

"So tell me how this leads you to hardly speaking to me." He hadn't even touched his meal yet.

Lisbon sighed, heavily, her shoulder starting to slump. "Alright," she finally said. "I'm avoiding you." Her mouth turned wry. "I'm happy here," she told him.

He had no idea what his face looked like. "And?" he prompted.

"And if I want to stay happy," she went on, "it's best for me to stay unentangled from you." The words were heavy, like she had put a lot of thought into them.

"Because I make you unhappy?" The idea was so ludicrous, so bewildering that he couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"Jane," she said, "I spent ten years of my life trying to be your partner. Sometimes, I even thought I was. But when you would...close yourself off, or disappear for months or years, or just...leave me...it was devastating. Personally, professionally, and in every other way you can think of. I can't go through it again, and I'm bound to if I work with you."

He knew he was staring.

She toyed with her napkin. "Besides, I'm trying to rebuild myself, my career. By _myself_," she added. "And you know damn well you complicate that." She took another deep breath. "If I'm around you, I'll fall back into the way things used to be. I miss it, honestly, miss you, but it's the best thing for me." She met his eyes again, half biting her lip, waiting for his response.

It sounded ridiculous. She missed him, was happy in Texas...but didn't want anything to do with him. He blinked rapidly. "Things are different now," he told her. "_I'm_ different now."

She looked pointedly at his wedding ring. "Are you?"

He curled his fingers in protectively, instinctively. "_Yes_," he said emphatically. "Believe me."

She shrugged. "I'd like to, really I would, but I spent so many years waiting for that to be true."

He felt anger start to bubble up in his chest. "That was before, Lisbon. Could you at least give me a chance before you pass judgement?"

Slowly, sadly, she shook her head. "It's better for me if I just keep my distance. It's better for both of us."

"Why?" His words were decidedly angry.

Her eyes snapped at him again. "Because you broke my heart!" she almost yelled. "More than once, actually, and I was stupid enough to let you keep doing it! I'm not going there again."

People were starting to look at them, but he was almost past the point of caring. This was not at all where he'd expected this conversation to go.

The terrible thing was, there was no denying her accusations. Yes, he had broken her heart. He'd known it even as he was doing it.

He leaned back, passed one hand over his face.

"Jane," she said, quieter now but no less intense, "I threw my career in California away for you. I took a bullet for your cause. I betrayed the trust of people that I admired immensely. And for all of that, you left me on a beach when it mattered the most, and them drug me back to you when it was convenient." She paused for emphasis. "Now, I am _happy_ with what I'm doing. Getting involved with you is just going to complicate the life I'm trying to build. And I know that you're just going to leave me on a beach again someday."

Her words felt like actual blows, and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, she was standing, coat in hand. "So, yes. I'm avoiding you. It's the right thing to do, and, for the first time, I need to take care of myself."

She didn't say goodbye as she walked out, didn't give him a chance to respond to the sentiments she'd flung at him.

He sat in silence, in absolute shock.

How had this gone so wrong?

Absently, he looked down at his hands. His wedding ring winked back at him.

Angry now, almost as angry as Lisbon had been, he wrenched it off, thrust it in his pocket. She didn't know, didn't understand anything about him now. She hadn't even bothered to give him a chance to prove that he was a better man now, that he was more than willing to try to be what she needed.

That hell would freeze before he broke her heart again.

That he was lost and adrift in this new life, and he had been counting on using her as his anchor.

That he thought about her every day he was gone, and every day since he'd been back.

That he was trying to be ready, but he didn't know how.

Disgusted with himself now, he rose, tossing a few twenties on the table.

He was a mess. She was right for walking away.

Wait.

Now she was the one leaving him on the proverbial beach. The irony almost choked him. No, this wasn't going to do. She didn't get to do this to him, not after telling him that she couldn't take _him_ leaving anymore.

Outside, he looked the empty pavement up and down. She had clearly gotten in a cab. He pulled out his phone, inexpertly scrolled through his contacts. One minute later, he'd weaseled Lisbon's address out of Cho with the words, "I will give you anything you want if you tell me where she lives." He didn't have time for subtlety now.

The white house on Sycamore had one light burning in the living room, but he could see Lisbon's shadow as she walked from place to place.

Screwing up his courage, he turned off the car, walked with unsteady legs to the front door, knocked concisely, heart hammering louder than his fist.

There were several moment of hesitation before she opened the wooden door. Her eye make-up was smudged, like she had swiped at her eyes a fair few times.

"Who's leaving who now?" he asked without preamble. His voice was hoarse.

She shook her head. "You've been leaving me for years," she whispered.

"But I always come back," he reminded her. "Always."

"I won't live my life like that," she said sadly. "Not anymore."

"What if I said you don't have to? What if I swore I would always be here?" The answer seemed intensely vital.

"Jane," she said slowly, and he knew what she was going to say. "You've lied to me many times before, and about things you swore you wouldn't."

Lorelei flashed in his mind, and the Red John suspects.

"Lisbon..." he trailed off. It was hard to refute her claims when he knew they were true. "It's not going to be like that anymore. What I was looking for...well. It's over. It's all in the past."

She closed her eyes, and he knew she wanted to believe him.

Carefully, he took a step forward and she let him, pushing the door shut at his back. A small victory.

"Teresa," he murmured, "I know I haven't done much to inspire fidelity, but give me a chance."

Her lashes rose. "A chance for what, Jane? I'm not even sure what we're talking about."

Well, he was. Slowly, they had gone from talking about their professional relationship to their personal one. And he knew which one mattered more.

He took another step forward, wrapped his hands around her upper arms, softly kissed the corner of her mouth. He could taste the salt from the tears he was sure had tracked down her face.

Her breath caught.

"I came back for you," he whispered, lips next to her ear. "Please don't make me live without you." He paused, and she subtly rested her hands on his sides, so lightly he almost didn't feel them. "Because if there's anything worse than being away from you, it's having you at arm's length and not being able to touch you."

But he was touching her now, hands sliding through her hair, her collarbone, thumb ghosting against her lips.

"I adore you," he breathed. "Let me prove it."

And when she raised her eyes to his, he knew he had won. They were forest green and fathoms-deep, and he bent his head to kiss her without thinking.

Her lips were tremulous for a moment, but as he increased the pressure of his own, she steadied, stretching on to her toes to reach him better. When she wanted control, he gave it to her willingly, palms resting heavily against her hips.

"Prove it," she murmured once, in between increasingly passionate kisses, echoing his earlier words.

He was more than happy to oblige her.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Originally, there wasn't going to be a chapter two, but I discovered that I had more to say on the matter. Also, I just felt like writing something...so this is what happened.

**Whys and Wherefores**

**Chapter Two**

The rational part of her brain informed her that she shouldn't sleep with him that night. He had literally just kissed her for the very first time, and there was no reason to start tearing his clothes off.

However, when Jane found a pressure point behind her earlobe with his lips, the rational part of her brain promptly shut down.

Before she knew how it happened, before she could commit every single second of this to memory, she was underneath him, still on top of the comforter, legs wrapped around his waist, her wordless groans muffled by his mouth.

She didn't want gentle, languid lovemaking. She had waited forever for this, and she wanted the confirmation that his passion was as strong as hers was.

He gave it to her, heart pounding, panting breath, fine sheen of sweat collecting on his warm skin.

When it was over, he lay quietly in her arms, lips pressed to her collarbone. She couldn't remember the last time she'd held a man like this, and then she wondered if the last person Jane had been like this with was his wife.

She'd never asked him about his time on the island, if there had been another woman to help him pass the time. Truth was, she didn't want to know.

Eventually, Jane sat up far enough to pull the edge of the duvet up and shimmy them both beneath it. This time, she was the one curled against him, head on his bare chest, arm wrapped around his waist.

There was a lot to think about.

He had come here tonight asking for a chance. To _be_ with her. She wasn't even sure where that had come from. They'd hardly spoken in the past few months, and now he was suddenly trying to have an honest to God romantic relationship with her.

To be honest, looking back now, she could see where he had been making an effort. She had firmly rebuffed him every time, even as he own instincts had told her to drop whatever she was doing and go along with it.

Her heart had taken a series of beatings that would kill a lesser being over the years, and now that it had regained some semblance of normality, she would fight to keep it (mostly) whole.

Well, she thought, closing her eyes as Jane ran a hand through her hair, that had all gone out the proverbial window tonight.

God, but it was nice to not just have to _wonder_ what this was like. Now she knew. Knew what his eyes looked like when he relinquished control over himself, knew precisely what the weight of his body felt like on hers, knew that, yes, he was every bit as good as she'd always thought he would be. It was more than that, too.

It was having the right to touch him, something she had mostly gotten in the habit of not doing.

He nuzzled the top of her head with his nose and she smiled.

It was amazing, the difference an hour made.

Of course, that was the story of life. Mere seconds sometimes made all the difference in the world. Lives changed in a heartbeat. She knew that. Jane knew that, too, probably better than she did.

She yawned widely, muscles protesting as she stretched. She in better shape than the average person, but there are some muscle groups you can't exercise in the gym without getting banned for life.

The silence in her bedroom was warm, peaceful, slumberous.

And then Jane's stomach rumbled.

Loudly.

She sighed, propping herself up on one elbow. "Is this where you make a crack about working up an appetite?"

He grinned, in even in the dimness, it was like a sunrise. "No, this is where I tell you I wouldn't be hungry at all if someone hadn't stormed out of the restaurant a few hours ago."

She was quiet for a moment, then soundly hit him in the face with a pillow.

"Ouch, woman," he protested, grabbing her wrists. Then he shook his head sadly. "This is never going to work. We've been together two hours and it's already come to blows."

She tried to free her arms, but Jane stretched them above her head, pinning them to the mattress. He grinned down at her.

"Really, Lisbon, I was under the impression we were going to be very happy. Have I been laboring under the wrong impression?" His lips were inches from hers, and she remembered the look in his eyes from just an hour ago.

"Hmm," she said playfully, wriggling closer as best she could. "You might be right. Fighting already. Not a good sign."

Softly, he kissed her, and she marveled once more that this was really happening. "No," he breathed.

"But," she went on, voice low. "maybe we should see how the make-up sex goes before we jump to any conclusions."

"What a wonderful plan," he murmured, and then he said nothing except her name for some time.

Later, they sat beside each other on the couch, a pizza box resting on her small coffee table.

"Mm," he said appreciatively, eating what she thought was his fourth slice. "You just could not get good pizza on that island. Not enough grease. I had to eat healthier. It was torture." He took a swig of the beer she'd had in her refrigerator.

"Poor baby," she said with a distinct lack of sympathy. "I'm sure the perfect weather and the beautiful beaches were some small comfort, however."

He shrugged, meeting her eyes. His were warm. "Paradise is only paradise when you have someone to share it with."

She squeezed his hand. "Have I told you how very glad I am that the FBI tracked you down?"

"Actually, no," he said, eyes opening wide. "And it's too bad they didn't send you after me."

She laughed. "They probably thought I'd just run away with you."

He was serious now. "Would you?"

She thought for a second. "Well, that depends."

He looked vitally interested. "On what?"

"On what you were offering." She smirked, then leaned forward for a quick kiss.

"Hmm," he hummed, considering. "Let's see. I've got...an Airstream that gets horrible gas mileage, the highest level security clearance the FBI can give, a smartphone that I don't know how to use, and I've sold my soul to the federal government for the next five years."

She kissed him again. "I'll take it."

"Such low standards," he teased, smiling against her mouth. "But I guess it's settled. We're running away after my term of indentured servitude is up."

For the first time, she fell asleep in his arms that night, back under the downy mass of her blankets. Jane was a cuddler, she discovered, and he wrapped himself around her so tightly it was almost uncomfortable.

However, she would rather die than tell him to move.

The strangeness of waking up next to a man she had dreamed about for so long took some getting used to. It was the best kind of adjusting, though.

He made breakfast in the morning, barefoot, clothes unbelievably wrinkled from where they had laid on the floor for most of the night. The image he presented, however, deeply tempted her to just jump him in the kitchen.

She wondered if they should slow down, take their time. But then he smiled at her, and she told herself that twelve years was slow enough.

Over the next two weeks, they fell into a routine. He came to her place after work (if they weren't on a case) and she could honestly say that she had not ever been happier. They went out to dinner, watched crappy television, and one Saturday morning, he even went grocery shopping with her.

Half of the tea that went into her cart wound up in her kitchen cupboards.

It made her smile whenever she thought about it, but not as much as the man himself did.

Jane behaved himself at work, at least, mostly, and she came to appreciate being his partner again. She had avoided him for months, despite the good she knew they did together, and having him back was like a cool rain after a long drought.

He was warm, romantic, and his ability to read her moods perfectly probably saved them a lot of fighting.

And his wedding ring stayed gone.

The first night he told her he loved her would remain one of her favorite moments. Unlike the first time he'd said the words, there was no urgency, no panic, and no one was armed. They were whispered softly into her ear as she drifted off, secure in the circle of his arms.

She opened her eyes enough to see him smiling, returned the sentiment, then fell asleep listening to the beat of his heart.

He sent her flowers the next day at work, carefully not signing the card, and she had to endure Fischer's endless speculation about who had given them to her. Someday, she was going to tell the other woman. But she just wanted to keep Jane to herself for a little while longer.

_Depends on what you were offering_, she'd told him.

The answer to that was clear, at least to her.

Everything.

She had taken him up on that. And there was no going back now.

Thank God.


End file.
